She needed peace to have a coffee, wanted the silence to settle her thoughts. Time enough to have to act. To don the widow’s weeds.

Taking the mug of coffee through to the dining room, she put it on the table and pulled the curtains. There’d been frost, the garden a sugar-coated wonderland. She opened the double door into the garden and stepped outside. The air was crisp; she took a deep breath and watched the plumes she expelled float away with a smile before pulling up the neck of her robe and stepping back inside.

The cold had been an effective chisel; it cut through the rather maudlin thoughts she’d been having of Peter to the nitty-gritty underneath. She cupped her cold hands around the mug of coffee and sipped it slowly as she thought.

She’d already done some research. Peter had rewritten his will when they married. Everything had been left to her. All she needed to do was play the grieving widow for a few months till his estate was settled and she would live comfortably ever after.

Then? She looked at the wall separating her from the kitchen. Although Peter had admitted trying to persuade his mother to have it knocked down, when it came to it, he was ridiculously insistent they wait.

‘I was thinking we should extend out into the garden. Plan for the future.’ He’d snaked an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. ‘For when we have a gaggle of kids.’

He’d probably assumed her shiver in response was agreement, maybe even an erotic reaction to his closeness. It was neither. She wanted to pull away from him but was afraid he’d see the look of loathing on her face. A gaggle of children. Not in her worst nightmare. Not even one. There was no point in telling him and bursting his little bubble of happiness. Let him believe whatever he wanted.

Poor Peter. At least he’d never had to see his dreams flutter in the wind around him, sailing up, up and away before falling spent to the ground. He’d never had to face reality.

Not everyone could.

Reality. She’d considered whether it would be better to sell up and move into something more modern. For what she’d get for the house, she could buy a very nice apartment. One with a balcony, a decent view, gym, concierge. Maybe even a pool.

It was tempting.

It was the thought of so many people living in close proximation that made her decide to stay put. Not the danger of seeing them – she guessed people would keep to themselves – no, it was simply being aware they were there. Surrounding her. Above, below. Too close.

The thought sent a shiver through her.

No, she’d stay in Peter’s house. Make it hers.